Because I Love You
by ber1719
Summary: When no one was awake and the silence would descend around him, he would remember. He would remember just how much he missed his friend. Please R&R.


"**Because I Love You"**

**A Sherlock One-Shot**

_I miss you Sherlock. –JW_

The flash and accompanying beep that indicated he had a text message made him flip over toward his phone. When he saw who it was and what the contents of the message said, he bit his lip. Hard. To keep from crying out in the night. He knew the people above, below, and to the sides of him wouldn't appreciate the noise. The walls were thin, too thin for most people. For him, they were perfect. When his thoughts became too much for him, he would just lie on his bed and listen to the other tenants laugh and cry and talk. In a way it never could have before, it comforted him.

Until now when John would send him text messages. He assumed that it was something his therapist had suggested he do. It was supposed to _help_ but Sherlock knew better. It was hurting them both. John could not let go of his ghost and he, well he couldn't let go of his best friend. Mycroft had told him on numerous times to discard the phone and get a new one but he couldn't bear the thought of losing the only physical attachment he had left to his wonderful blogger. However much he knew Mycroft was right, the twit. Every day, he grew more restless. Every day, the overwhelming need to reply to John, to let him know that he was alive, grew. He knew that one day he would be unable to resist it. One day, he would make the mistake. It didn't help that he thought about John and the others nearly every waking hour of every waking day.

When no one was awake and the silence would descend around him, he would remember. He would remember just how much he missed his friend. Times where there was no one else to distract him from himself, from his thoughts. Times where there was nothing but silence and memories to keep him company. It seemed to him that these points in time were becoming more and more frequent.

Even after all this time, it was still hard. And he still couldn't forgive himself for what he had done to his best friend. He didn't think he ever would. He knew that it was nonsensical. He couldn't have stopped Moriarty or his twisted, insane plan. He knew that and yet it still plagued him after all these years. Moriarty had forced him to give up his life, give up his friends, give up _John_.

Every single day was a struggle. He wanted to return to his old life. He wanted to be surrounded by the people he loved, though he would never admit that to them. He'd had a hard enough time admitting it to himself after all. It had been worth it though. He had saved them. All of them and for that same reason, he could go back to being Sherlock Holmes, the only Consulting Detective the world had ever known. Because Moriarty's network had been even more vast and impressive than he had ever imagined and the people he cared about were still in danger. Until the danger had passed, Sherlock Holmes could not return to his friends. He could not return to being the famous Consulting Detective.

So, in that way, maybe he didn't hate those moments where he was left nothing but the cold comfort of his memories. Because they were the last reminded of the life he'd once led. It had been a lonely life before Lestrade, before Molly and Mrs. Hudson, before his best friend. But they had, all of them, engrained themselves in his life and had made it that much brighter and that much bearable.

_You know, I still don't understand why you did it. Mycroft's explained the whole bit to me, but I didn't think even you were that much of an idiot. –JW_

Sherlock almost had the urge to laugh at that last text. John sent him sad texts and the occasional happy text. Most of those set his teeth on edge for reasons he didn't quite understand. Both most of the time, John sent him angry texts. He had hoped that John would get angry enough that he would _want _to forget about him, but it was inevitable that his friend would revert back to being utterly depressed and perplexed over his alleged suicide. The angry texts were the easiest to deal with. They were the easiest.

_Why did you do it, Sherlock? Please, just answer me. –JW_

He could almost picture John as he sent the messages. His fingers pounding furiously against the tiny mobile keyboard. His bottom row of teeth worrying his upper lip. His leg bouncing with the rhythm of his typing.

And more than anything, he wanted to answer him. He wanted to give his friend hope for once, not this. This heart-wrenching, hopelessness that wore on him every single day. He wanted to give in for both his sake and John's. But he couldn't and that was what killed him inside more than anything.

_Because John, I love you. –SH_

_*message saved as draft*_

**So this story just sort of came to me and this is my first venture into the Sherlock verse. I really hope that this isn't as strange and horrible as I think it might be. Please read and review. I hope to write more Sherlock fics on here in the future. Because of my job, I work the graveyard shift and believe me, I think I'm going to want the writing distraction in order to stay awake. **

**Much love. xoxo**


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